


Stray

by firefright



Series: Moon Driven [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Instincts, Biting, Dubious Consent, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Underage Sex, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-28
Updated: 2017-08-28
Packaged: 2018-12-20 18:03:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11926281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firefright/pseuds/firefright
Summary: Jason doesn't know what's happening to him. Two nights ago, he was bitten by what hethinkswas an exceptionally large dog. Except no dog bite can explain the strange new senses he has; the ability to hear and smell things he shouldn't. Nor the powerful instinct within him to hunt and chase. It isn't until a strange scent leads him to a man called Slade Wilson that he gets the answers to his questions (even if those answers aren't necessarily the ones he was hoping for).





	Stray

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skalidra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/gifts).



> Hi all! This is a birthday fic I wrote for my darling Skalidra, who asked me for werewolves with unsuspecting lost pup!Jason running into experienced wolf!Slade. I did my best to fulfil her expectations, and the result is this monstrosity you find before you.
> 
> Warnings for Jason being an underage teenager, Slade being Slade, and absolutely no attempt being made to portray realistic wolf behaviour (if any of that squicks you, you may want to back out now). That said, I hope you guys enjoy!

Jason twists away from the main street and down the nearest alleyway as another car drives past him, the sound of its engine forcing him to clap his hands over his ears.

It’s nighttime in Gotham. Too late for anyone respectable to be out. Only cab drivers ferrying home the drunk and desperate, criminals up to no good, and kids like him. The ones who are no good, whatever it is they’re up to. Which in Jason’s case, is simply trying to get _home_.

The pounding in his head is terrible, the ache in his hip worse. Ever since he made the decision to leave Leslie Thompkins free clinic earlier this evening Jason has regretted it. He bites his lip, clenches his teeth as his back hits the wall of the nearest building, and holds himself still until the last rumble of the exhaust has faded from his hearing.

He doesn’t know what it is that’s happening to him, but he’s damn sure it isn’t normal.

Normal isn’t his ears ringing at every little sound, picking up the cry of a cat two streets away. Isn’t the smell of trash gunking up his nose over the lingering traces of urine and fur, or the strange, disturbing, _salivating_ urge to go track the creature down. To do… to do… something. Something terrible he thinks, as his stomach clenches tighter inside him, rumbling with a new hunger that hadn’t been at all satisfied by the modest meal of chicken and fries the nurse on duty at the clinic had fed him earlier that evening.

Just two nights ago, such a meal would have been luxurious to a kid like Jason, who usually only got to eat like that once every couple weeks. But now…

He grits his teeth again as he stumbles further down the alleyway, pressing his hand to his hip while shaking his head to try and clear it. He’s starting to think Leslie had lied to him about there being no lingering infection from the bite that damn dog had given him.

Though dog may not be the correct word. 

Jason shudders as he recalls the encounter. The animal had looked more like a bear than a dog. Bigger and stronger than any stray he’s ever seen before. Which is saying something in Gotham, where the streets breed them big and mean. It had come at him from out of nowhere as he routed through the bins outside one of the takeout places near his squat. All Jason can remember of the encounter is a distorted impression of great size and black fur, yellow eyes staring him down, and its teeth like knives in his hip, before with one shake of its great head the beast had thrown him clear across the parking lot.

Jason still can’t piece together how he had gotten away after that. The first thing he remembers is stumbling through the door of Leslie’s clinic and collapsing down in her arms, soaked in his own blood and sobbing from the pain.

He doesn’t think he’d ever seen her look so worried about him before. To the point where even after the bite was cleaned and bandaged, and he’d recovered his strength over the course of the next two days with precious antibiotics given, Leslie had tried to convince Jason to stay at least another night in her care. But he was too worried about what might have happened to his squat and meagre possessions in his absence to listen to her, as well as reluctant to make himself another drain on her admittedly finite resources when there were so many others with greater need still requiring her attention out in the clinic’s waiting room.

Now however, with his head pounding and his every sense overwhelmed, Jason really wants to take back that decision to leave.

A car horn going off startles him from one side of the alley to the other, and he whimpers, a sound unlike any he’s ever heard himself make before as he presses his hands in tight over his ears. With every step his disorientation grows. He can’t focus, can barely raise his eyes to see, and is instead forced to trust that his feet know where they’re going as he stumbles onwards, seeking the familiar surroundings of home.

“What’s wrong with you, kid?” An old woman scowls at him from where she’s standing at her back door, smoking a cigarette as he passes. The smell of smoke, usually a familiar comfort, makes him want to retch. “You on drugs?”

She sniffs heavily when he doesn’t reply. “Get away from here. You hear me? You on drugs, piss off!”

Jason opens his mouth to tell her to fuck off, that he isn’t on any damn drugs, but the actual sound that emerges from his lips is something else entirely. He watches, startled, as her face pales and the cigarette falls from her fingers. A second later her door slams shut in his face, followed by the sound of at least three different locks clicking into place. Jason reels back as his hand flies up to his throat.

That… that definitely wasn’t normal.

People don’t _growl_.

One deep breath follows another. Jason tries to reason with himself that he’s tired, his head hurts. Maybe he’s hallucinating from the pain and infection of the bite. Any of that would make more sense than to acknowledge that he’d actually just growled at someone like a dog.

Then, as if to drive home the fact he’s going off the deep end, he smells something. Something not… not the smoke. Not trash. Not stagnant water or spilled oil on the street either. Something different, and in a curious way, alluring. It cuts through every other sound and scent around him: a beacon of focus amid discord.

And it’s close.

All thoughts of home leave Jason’s head as he begins to follow that scent, called forward by something deeper than thought and reason. He walks through one twisting alleyway after another. Ducks beneath low-hanging washing lines and squeezes through narrow gaps. Ignoring all other distractions until, eventually, he drops down into a square concrete yard behind a narrow tenement — almost collapsing at the stabbing pain in his hip for doing so — and finds himself staring upwards at a red metal door, sitting at the top of a small row of concrete steps.

The scent, its source, is inside that door, he realises. He can taste it, _feel_ it in the air, getting stronger with every step.

Jason swallows thickly. His heart thuds in his chest as he moves forward, holding his hip against the pain. The paint on the door is old and peeling, but he hardly gives it a second thought. Jason’s never felt anything like this pull within him before, this _need_ to get closer and discover what it is lies behind that steel barrier.

He reaches out, fingers trembling, for the handle, but before he can grasp it the door swings suddenly inwards, and Jason stumbles back, toppling down the steps to land on his rear with a startled yelp against the concrete. A feeling, power and authority unlike any he’s ever perceived, fills the confined space of the yard, combined with an impression of great height, white hair and a single eye narrowed down at him. But what he sees is nothing in comparison to that scent, so strong now it’s like a blanket in the air, smothering every other. Jason bows his head without even understanding why he’s doing it, feeling himself shake from pain, disorientation, and some unknown need in equal measure.

For a long moment, nothing happens, then — in a tone deep enough to make Jason’s stomach clench — a man’s voice says, “Well, don’t just sit there. Come inside.”

Rising from the ground, he hurries to obey.

*

Every survival instinct Jason ever cultivated from five years of living on Gotham’s streets, and beneath his father’s fist before that, screams in protest as he follows the stranger through a surprisingly tidy hallway and then into a large, spartan living room. It screams against the sound of the door locking behind him once he steps over the threshold; at the size and evident strength of the house’s owner. It tells him he is making a terrible mistake. One that will surely end with him as just another statistic among Gotham’s lost and murdered, the way he’s always secretly feared he would.

But loud as that voice is, it’s still not enough to drown out the other forces in his head right now. The instinct that led him here in the first place, and keeps him stepping forwards, drawn by something more powerful than fear.

“Sit.” the man commands him, pointing to the huge couch occupying one corner of the room. 

Legs shaking, Jason does as he’s told, collapsing down into cushions that are warm and soft, and covered even more in that dominating scent. His fingers curl in the fabric as he breathes it in. “Who… who are…?”

The man turns round, and Jason’s first impression was right. He’s _huge_. Almost terrifyingly so to a scrawny, half-fed street kid. Old too. Except maybe not that old, because while his hair is bone white, his face is curiously unlined, and his eye, the single one that remains, sharp and alert as it regards the boy sitting on his couch. He steps back towards Jason, who notes with an extra loud thud of his heart that the cut of the man’s clothes does nothing to hide the size of the muscles beneath them.

He wonders at his chances of being able to get out of here before this man can grab him, kill him, or worse.

“Considering you’re the one who crashed into my backyard, pup, I think maybe I should be asking you that question.”

Jason tenses up further. “I didn’t know it was _your_ yard. I was just…” he trails off, unsure how to describe the circumstances that led him here.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. The man, sounding exasperated, does it for him. “Following a scent, right?”

Startled by his knowledge, Jason nods. It’s even stranger to hear it said out loud. Yet, at the same time, the fact that this man knows what he means without having to be told is also oddly reassuring. A sign that maybe he’s not so crazy after all (or that they’re both sharing the same delusion). “Uh, yeah. But how do you…?”

Evidently, his question isn’t one the man was expecting, as a frown settles onto his face immediately after. Jason watches warily as he seems to sniff the air, then reaches up to scratch the beard that covers his jaw before sighing heavily. Finally, he shakes his head. 

“Poor pup,” His deep voice comes out unexpectedly soft, as well as potently sympathetic, “you don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” Jason asks. It’s quiet here in the confines of the house. There’s no distracting sound from the city outside invading his head. Only the scent that drowns everything else out. It allows him to think more clearly than he has since he left Leslie’s clinic, yet at the same time, leaves him feeling strangely befuddled in a way he can’t really explain. “What are you talking about? Do you…” he sits up straighter, “Do you know what’s happening to me? Why I came here? What...” He swallows, “What that smell is? If you do, you gotta tell me. You gotta tell me right the hell n—”

“Shh. Easy now.” The man says, stepping closer with one hand held out before him. He kneels down in front of Jason, but even like that, he’s still tall enough that Jason could easily look him in the eye if he wanted to. “Take a deep breath.” he orders, “Settle.” 

And the strange thing is, Jason _does_. Sinking back into the couch cushions he’d half-risen from as he asked his questions. He inhales, and another lungful of that scent hits him, stronger than before. 

“I can answer your questions,” the man continues speaking, “but first you’re going to have to answer a couple of mine. What’s your name, pup?”

“Jason.” he answers weakly, 

His honesty earns him a smile. A quick flash of teeth that’s almost as threatening as it is comforting. “Good. Mine’s Slade. Slade Wilson.”

“Slade.” Jason repeats. His gaze stays fixed on Slade’s face now that he has a name to attach to it, looking at the patch covering his missing eye, rather than the one that’s whole and present.

“That’s right.” Slade sounds pleased rather than annoyed by Jason’s refusal to look at him straight. “Now, how long ago were you bitten, Jason?”

Jason’s eyes widen. His head jerks up, shock breaking through the compulsion to look down. Before he can stop himself, his hand moves self-consciously to cover his hip again. “How do you know I was bitten?”

Injured he could understand. Anyone could have guessed that from the way he limped in here. But the fact that Slade specified a bite…

Even if the bandages covered by his ratty shirt and jeans were visible, there’s no way he should be able to know that.

Slade is unphased by his reaction. “Answer the question, pup. Then I’ll tell you.”

He sucks in a sharp breath. “I…” Jason wars with himself for a good thirty seconds before deciding to just go ahead with it. This whole thing feels wrong as much as it feels right, but he wants answers too badly not to do as Slade says. “Two days. It was two days ago.”

“Two days.” Slade mutters, as if talking to himself. “Which makes this the third. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

“What does me being bitten by a dog have to do with anything?” Jason demands. Or tries to, at any rate. One look from Slade has him attempting to sink deeper into the couch, a tremor running from his head right down to the tips of his toes despite his attempt to suppress it.

“Dog? Please, pup. You and I both know it was no dog that did this to you.” Slade looks up at him, holding Jason’s gaze by force this time. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. “It was a wolf.”

It occurs to Jason that his hearing might have been more messed up by all the noise he encountered outside than he initially thought, because there’s no way he could have just heard Slade right.

“A wolf.” he repeats slowly.

“You don’t believe me.” Slade replies, not looking offended or shocked by his reaction in the least.

“There are no wolves in Gotham.” Jason says, with the confidence of one completely secure in their worldview when it comes to such things. “‘cept in the zoo, and cops would’ve said if one of those got loose.”

Slade shakes his head, “Different kind of wolf, pup. The one I’m talking about, no cop would know to warn you over. It’s bigger, and got one hell of an infectious bite, too.”

Well, that clears absolutely nothing up, and Jason isn’t shy about letting Slade know it. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“A werewolf, Jason.” Slade says, letting his arms rest across his thighs where he remains crouched on the floor. “You were bitten by a werewolf.”

Jason doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it, he laughs. The sound startled, almost more of a bark than anything else as he fails to hide his disbelief. “A… you… you’re joking right? A werewolf, you can’t be serious.”

“Why would I lie to you?” Slade replies, raising his eyebrows.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Jason counters. “I don’t know you. You’re just some guy I…” Ice suddenly fills his stomach. It’s like he wakes up for a moment to where he is: a stranger’s house with a man who can clearly overpower him. Slowly, wary of springing a trap, Jason starts to drag himself further down the couch. _Away_ from Slade. “You could be anyone; a thug, a serial killer, a rapist. A—”

“Werewolf?” Slade asks him, with a wry twist of his lips.

Jason manages a glare. “Werewolves aren’t real, jackass. They’re just stories.”

“Then why are you here, pup?” Slade doesn’t make any move to stop him from continuing to inch away. “Why did you come to me?”

“I didn’t know I was coming to _you_.” Jason tries to defend himself. Grabbing onto the back of the couch with one hand, he pushes himself up onto his feet, before a wave of dizziness almost knocks him back off them again. “I don’t know why… I don’t…”

“I do.” Slade takes his time getting to his feet, every movement unhurried and utterly confident. His stride is so long, he barely has to take two steps to catch up to Jason. “You came here because you felt something. A call deep inside you.” 

Jason wants to run, but he can’t. His feet stay glued to the floor as Slade speaks.

“Because today you woke up changed. You started being able to hear things you shouldn’t be able to hear. Smell things you shouldn’t be able to smell. Because there’s a hunger inside you right now that can’t be satisfied, even though you’ve already eaten tonight.” Slade rests his hand close to Jason’s on the back of the couch as he leans in towards him, its opposite coming up to cup the teenager’s chin. “Isn’t that right, pup?”

Jason struggles to deny it, but still tries anyway. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re crazy. You’re a crazy fucking—”

Slade growls.

The sound is like a thunderclap on a sunny day, sudden and alarming in equal measure. Jason falls back from Slade, collapsing down as if someone has cut all the strings holding him up, and onto the floor. His body arches; throat exposed, stomach bared, and a long begging whine flies free of his throat before he even has time to consider what he’s doing. His legs pull in close to his chest, and his hands go next to his head, palms up to show that they’re empty of threat.

Slade is angry with him, is the only prevailing thought. Slade is angry, and that’s terrifying. Jason doesn’t want him to be angry. He wants to apologise. He wants to show Slade he’s no threat. He whines again as his entire body trembles, heart racing in his chest; pleading for forgiveness for whatever transgression it is he’s made.

Seconds tick by in which Slade does nothing, in which his anger reigns and he towers tall above Jason. The longer it goes on, the more he can’t bear it. A third whine escapes his throat before he shuts his eyes, hoping a further display of vulnerability will do the trick.

It does. The sound of a large body kneeling on the floor next to him precedes the firm touch of fingers to his throat.

“Easy, pup.” Slade says, voice low, and nothing like the growl as he calms him. “You’re all right. It’s all right. You’re forgiven. You hear me?”

Jason breathes in at the touch of those fingers, and in that moment it’s like he gets a concentrated dose of the scent that led him here. His eyelids flutter open, as his legs pull up even tighter to his chest. “Y-yes…” He swallows, “You…” And then it comes to him. 

“It’s you.” Jason gasps out, the epiphany one that should have been painfully obvious the moment he stepped up outside Slade’s door. “That smell, it’s you.”

“Of course it is.” Slade replies, smiling down at him. His fingers feel unnaturally warm against Jason’s skin. “That’s why you came here, after all; seeking another of your kind.”

Jason shivers. “You smell…” he swallows thickly. “Oh. My god. You...”

Slade lets him have a few moments to calm himself down. His hand stays over Jason’s throat, an unnerving weight that is paradoxically reassuring. “You ready to believe me now, pup?”

He shouldn’t. It’s impossible. It’s unreal. It’s… yet the way he just reacted, everything else he’s felt and done tonight…

Maybe there is no rational explanation. Maybe this is the truth.

“This is crazy.” He still can’t help but whisper again.

“You can say that as many times as you want to, Jason, it won’t change anything.” Slade’s fingers rub circles into the skin of his throat, making Jason shiver. A distant part of him wonders why he isn’t making any move to throw them off. “But I understand. Perhaps you need a more… physical demonstration.”

He blinks. “Like what? Do you mean…” His mind flies back to every werewolf movie he’s ever seen. “ _Change_?” he laughs, a little on the edge of hysterical, “Doesn’t it have to be a full moon for that?”

“Was it a full moon the night you were bit, pup?” Slade asks him sharply.

Jason flinches back, suitably chastened. “No…” he replies sullenly.

“Then no, it doesn’t have to be a full moon.” Slade’s fingers, which had tightened momentarily on his throat, relax again. His thumb moves up to brush gently against Jason’s cheek. “Anyway, I don’t think the full change will be necessary here. Not to make you believe.”

“What do you—”

“Watch.” Slade commands him. 

Jason can’t help but obey. It feels helplessly easy to do as Slade says. It’s like he told him, there’s a part of Jason that feels called to the older man. Threatened and reassured by his presence all at once. A part that fears him, yet also wants to please; to be close, _protected_. To be—

Slade closes his eye. When he opens it again, any hint of blue is gone. Instead, the colour there is deep amber, almost yellow. His irises seem larger, nearly swallowing up the white of his eye, and that’s not all. When Slade smiles this time his teeth are noticeably sharper. Jason feels the press of his thumb against his cheek again, and realises with a jolt that the nail there feels longer, more pointed, like a claw. He looks wilder somehow, more fey.

“Holy shit.” Jason whispers. “You’re… you’re real… you’re really a… a...”

“Yes, pup.” Slade answers him, and even his voice is changed, deeper and more gravelly. “I am. We are.”

The call inside Jason grows stronger. He swallows, barely holding back the urge to whine again.

“Okay. Okay, I believe you. I… fuck, I believe you.”

“That’s good, pup.” Slade praises him, and the words slide down into Jason’s belly like hot soup, warming him from within. “Now back up onto the couch; we need to talk, and you need to eat.”

With a little more encouragement from Slade, Jason regains his feet and sits down on the couch under the guidance of his hand. He remains there while Slade disappears into another room Jason assumes is the kitchen, listening to the sound of whatever it is Slade is doing in there. A door opens and shuts, water runs. He hears the flash of an igniting flame, then a sizzling sound followed by a new smell, that of cooking meat that makes his mouth water before Slade finally reappears five minutes later, a plate and glass of water in hand.

“Eat these.” Slade says, passing the plate over to him first and setting the water to one side. Three large hamburgers rest on top of it. “All of them.”

Jason doesn’t need to be told twice. The burgers smell so delicious that his stomach cramps tight, reminding him of the gnawing hunger inside. He lifts up the first and takes a huge bite, almost moaning as the meat juices run across his tongue and down his chin. The burger is closer to warm than hot, the outside seared but the inside nearly raw, like Slade barely bothered to cook it through. Jason doesn’t care. It tastes so good that all he can think about is the next bite and the next. As soon as one burger is gone, he’s picking up the second and devouring that too.

Slade sits beside him while he eats, chuckling as he watches Jason gorge himself. Jason is peripherally aware of his proximity, but it isn’t until he’s slowed down on eating the third hamburger that he starts to notice just how close Slade actually is. That their thighs are touching, and Slade’s fingers are reaching up to run through his hair, brushing the curling black strands away from his face.

His eye is still yellow, but at least the claws seem to be gone.

“Better?” Slade asks him, once Jason’s finished the last bite and is wiping his chin clean with his fingers before licking the remains of the bloody burger juice off them in turn.

“Y-yeah.” he manages, uncertain what to make of the gentle concern displayed in those words. “Much. Thanks.”

“It’s fine. Your body needs a lot of fuel for the changes it’s going through. That’s why you’ve been feeling so hungry.” Slade withdraws his hand from Jason’s hair, looking considerately at him. “Where do you live, Jason?”

“Crime Alley.” Jason answers immediately.

“Family?”

He shakes his head. Then, wary of seeing the same pity on Slade’s face he’s known from so many others, Jason asks, “Changes?”

Slade nods. “First couple days, your body spends recovering from the bite itself. It usually isn’t until the third that the infection really starts to kick in; turning you from human to wolf.”

He swallows hard, “You mean I could...”

“Not until your first full moon. Which is…” Slade looks thoughtful for a moment. “Four days from now, as a matter of fact. You’ve got it cut close.”

“ _I_ didn’t do anything.” Jason mutters miserably, swallowing hard. “Isn’t there a cure? A way to not be… this?”

It doesn’t surprise him when Slade immediately shakes his head. “Sorry, pup. No.”

“Shit.” he whispers. “Shit, shit…”

If this is real (and at least a small fraction of Jason’s mind is still in denial about that) he’s going to be stuck this way forever. Stuck hearing and smelling things he shouldn’t. Stuck being overwhelmed at every turn by behaviour that doesn’t make sense. Then, at the end of it, there’s the prospect that he’ll turn into a wolf. A huge slavering monster like the one that bit him, and he’ll… he’ll…

“Easy.” Slade’s voice is there again, so close to his ear this time that Jason jumps from it. A hand — big, warm and dry — settles in against the back of his neck. “You’re all right. You’re safe here.”

“How am I all right?” Jason looks up, his tone torn between pleading and demanding. “You just told me I was bitten by a werewolf. That I _am_ a werewolf. That werewolves are fucking real! How is any of that—”

“Because you’re with me.” Slade answers evenly, his continued calm a balm against Jason’s bouncing nerves. 

He blinks. “With… with you?”

Slade nods. “Your instincts led you here, pup, so I’m going to take care of you. Guide you through all of this, I promise. It’s the least I can do after whichever moron bit you abandoned you like that.”

Those fingers on the back of his neck _squeeze_ , and Jason shudders. _Abandoned._ To a street kid like him, that word is like a stab in the gut.

“If he’d meant to kill you, he would have. The fact you’re alive now means he must have decided to let you go.” Slade continues. He looks deeply disapproving, angry even, and something inside Jason thrills to see someone react that way over him. Normally, the only person who ever shows any sign of caring about his wellbeing is Leslie. “It’s irresponsible, cruel to do that to such a young pup as you.”

“Why?” Jason asks uncertainly, drawn to lean into him. “I mean… why would someone do that, bite me if they didn’t…”

“I don’t know. I only know they made a mistake by doing so. I don’t appreciate those who don’t take care of their pack.”

Jason shivers as Slade’s fingers close in tighter around his neck. “Pack?”

“Wolves aren’t meant to live alone, Jason.” 

Jason blinks slowly, his eyes dart around the living room. All he can smell is Slade. _Only_ Slade. “Aren’t you alone?”

Slade looks away for a moment, as if the question pains him. “I am. Or well, I was.” then he crooks a grin down at Jason. “But now you’re here with me, aren’t you, pup?”

Jason’s teeth tease his lip. It feels like there’s more Slade’s not saying with that, but Jason’s tired, afraid; still in shock from everything he’s learned. And Slade is the only person around who has any idea what’s happening to him. The only person who can give him advice on the apparent changes in his life. Jason realises that he’s afraid of what will happen if he doesn’t stay here with him. Both to himself, and others.

And beyond that there’s still… still that inarguable pull inside him towards the older man. That wants to stay here wrapped in his scent and reassuring authority. That doesn’t mind Slade’s familiarity, and letting him touch him in ways he never would anyone else. That wants... wants…

 _Pack_.

“I… I guess.” he says finally, still trying to hold onto some of the wariness that’s kept him alive the past few years.

Slade smiles understandingly. “It’s all right, pup. I know it’s a lot to take in. But trust me, staying here with me is for the best. If you were to go home…” he shakes his head. “You don’t want to go home as you are. Not until you’ve learned to control it. If you did people would get hurt.”

Jason stiffens. “I don’t… I don’t want to hurt anyone.” he never has. Which is why, despite the temptingly lucrative opportunities around the area in which he lives, Jason has always shied away from living a true life of crime, sticking to smaller jobs instead. Boosting tires and… he swallows, _other_ things to survive.

“And you won’t. Just stick with me, pup. Do as I say, and I’ll teach you everything I know.”

Slade’s hand squeezes his neck again, causing a full body shudder to run through Jason. “Okay…” he nods, “Okay, I… I’ll give this a shot.” It’s not like he has any choice.

“Good boy.” Slade smiles at him, sharp-toothed still, but the fear has ebbed from Jason, leaving only that strange pull behind. “Now, lie back for me. I want to take a closer look at this bite of yours.”

“Why?” He can’t help asking.

“Because I want to check that it’s healing properly. Especially after that fall you took earlier.” Slade’s eye meets his briefly, and Jason almost reflexively drops his gaze. “And because I may be able to pick up something of the one who did this to you from the mark.”

“Seriously?” His eyes widen.

“Lie down, pup.”

Spurred on by that reasoning, Jason moves to do as he’s told. Slade briefly stands up to make room for him, but as soon as Jason is on his back he’s there again, sitting on the edge of the couch, reaching to push up his shirt before Jason can even begin to move his hands to do it himself.

He blushes as Slade’s eye runs down his chest and then his stomach to the bandage. Particularly when he realises that the position of the bite over his hip means that getting the bandage off will mean undoing the top of his jeans as well. Something Slade doesn’t hesitate to do with a quick twist of his fingers, popping the button and pulling the zipper down.

“Wait—” Jason starts to say, before Slade hushes him. He swallows dryly as his jeans are tugged out of the way, and a thumb traces across his hip around the edge of the bandage.

“This is professionally done.” Slade observes.

“I came from the… from a clinic.” Jason answers the unspoken question. “I was staying there, after the attack. Just got released today.”

“Hm.” 

He shivers further as Slade starts to pry off the medical tape holding the gauze over the wound. It’s tacky and unpleasant, but the warm air that rushes over his skin when the bandage is gone feels much better, as do the rough pads of Slade’s fingers against his bruised skin. Jason bites his lip, he doesn’t need to look down to know how much of a mess he is.

“They put stitches in.” Slade says, disapprovingly, “These will need to come out.”

“Les—the doc said they’d need to stay in a few days.” Jason replies, confused. “Said I should go back when—”

“It won’t take that long. They’re healing already.”

“What?” He shifts himself up onto his elbows, keenly away of the way his shirt is bunched up underneath his armpits as he does. Jason’s teeth dig into his lip at the sight of Slade’s huge hand on him, big enough almost to cover his entire stomach.

“Here.” Slade points out. Jason squints, then stares as he notices the raw edges of the scabs already turning to pink scar tissue.

“Holy—”

“See, there are some benefits to what we are, pup.” Slade smirks up at him, “Now, let me take care of this for you.”

His voice is warm enough to make Jason flush again. He doesn’t quite lay back all the way down, wanting to watch whatever it is Slade does to get the stitches out. Jason expects him to go and get a pair of scissors or something else with which to cut the threads holding his skin together, but instead Slade simply pinches the stitches between suddenly sharper fingernails, and _twists_.

Jason bites his lip, a muffled whine escaping him at the pain of the thread being drawn out. There aren’t many, only the biggest gashes are tied together by two or three stitches each, but it hurts, and as soon as they’re pulled free fresh lines of blood run across the skin of his stomach. 

He reaches down to wipe them off, but before he can Slade catches his hand. “I’ve got it.” he says firmly, and Jason can’t even think to question what he means by that. Slade shifts back, moving to kneel on the floor beside the couch, then bends his head down towards Jason’s stomach and drags his tongue over the newly opened cuts.

This time, Jason does gasp. More than that, he whines, fingers digging into the thick cushions of the couch as his head falls back. It feels easy, natural to do. Not strange the way it should be to have someone clean his injuries with their _tongue_ of all things — a gesture so intimate it makes his head start to spin.

He keens. Not that Slade seems to notice, intent on what he’s doing. But by the time he pulls away Jason is shaking, and it’s with a horrified twitch that he suddenly realises he’s hard as well. Maybe has been for a couple of minutes. “Slade…”

From where he’s kneeling, and Jason’s open jeans, there’s no way Slade can miss it.

Jason clutches the couch cushions to the point of banishing the blood from his knuckles. He watches as Slade first looks up at him, an expression of polite interest on his face, then glances back down. His expression shifts to one of surprise, then light (but not mocking) amusement.

“Ah.” he hums. The warmth of his breath rushing over Jason’s stomach highlighting everywhere Slade’s tongue has been. His thumb rubs a warm circle into Jason’s hip, close to one of the largest tooth marks. “Don’t worry, pup, I can take care of that too.”

“I—” he isn’t sure whether that was what he was asking for when he said Slade’s name — whether it was meant to be a plea in any form. But now he’s heaving in Slade’s scent again. _Now_ he’s looking up at the older man — older wolf _,_ and he… he…

The heel of Slade’s palm rubs against the front of his underwear and Jason’s hips jump up to meet it. He gasps, clear and audible at the spark that races up his spine from even that small contact. His head is still spinning, and all that seems to matter is Slade’s attention on him. What Slade wants him to do, and what will bring more of Slade’s approval his way. 

“Please…” he gulps, barely knowing what it is he’s asking for.

“Easy, pup. I’ve got you.” Slade runs his other hand up Jason’s flank, then over his chest and collarbone to rest against his throat. The action feels completely soothing, not at all threatening like it did before. “Just do as I tell you, that’s all you have to do.”

Jason nods. It’s easier than trying to speak again.

Slade’s smile widens, pleased. “Good boy.”

He leans down towards him, and Jason instinctively raises his head up, but it’s not a kiss he receives. Slade’s mouth goes instead to his throat, moving his fingers down so he has room to lick and nip under Jason’s jaw. At the same time, his palm presses down again, grinding into Jason’s cock. 

The sound Jason makes because of it would be embarrassing if he were actually capable of thinking about anything other than Slade in this moment.

“Such a pretty thing,” Slade murmurs, pulling his head back to look down at Jason’s flustered expression. His thumb strokes across the hollow of his throat, “How could anyone ever think of abandoning you.”

The reminder causes Jason to shiver, and his mouth to turn down unhappily at the edges. That word strikes a deeper blow than a werewolf’s bite ever could.

“Shh,” Slade is there instantly, soothing away his discomfort. “I didn’t mean it like that, pup. You’re staying here with me now, and I take care of what’s mine, I promise you.”

It must be something in the air, because in that moment Jason actually believes him. Believes him and clings to the idea of belonging and staying with Slade. He doesn’t panic, even as Slade’s hands withdraw from his body, only to then slip one arm underneath his back. He lifts Jason, enough to make it easy to tug his jeans, complete with underwear, the rest of the way down his legs until they get caught over his sneakers.

Now Jason blushes, face turning hot and red at the feeling of exposure. The sound Slade makes is a pleased rumble in contrast as he drops him back down, then climbs onto the couch with Jason, sliding his hands up the smooth skin of his calves and thighs.

“Has anyone else ever touched you like this?” Slade asks, voice seemingly casual.

Jason hesitates, which is in itself an answer.

Slade narrows his eye, “Who?”

“No one. It doesn’t matter.” Jason swallows, reluctantly compelled to tell the truth. “Just… guys. Sometimes I got… I had to… I was hungry and it—it didn’t mean anything. I didn’t like it. Didn’t really want it. None of it.”

Slade growls lowly, the sound long and pronounced, causing him to shiver. “It’s all right, pup.” he assures Jason, “I’m taking care of you now. You won’t have to do anything like that ever again, I promise.”

This time he does move to kiss Jason. It’s a hard kiss, like Slade’s trying to devour him from the inside out. Jason squirms underneath it, hit again by the sheer size of Slade as he finally lets go of the couch cushions to grab onto the older wolf’s massive shoulders. Fear starts to curdle in his stomach, before another lungful of Slade’s scent calms him back down again.

There’s something… something different about it this time. Something that Jason, in his inexperience with interpreting the nuances of this newly enhanced sense, can scarcely begin to comprehend. If he had a give a name to that changed note, however, it would be a simple one: _want_. He smells want in Slade. Want Jason can only guess is for some unknown reason directed at him.

“Slade…” he gasps as the kiss breaks, his mouth thoroughly ravaged. His lips feel bruised, and he can taste the remnants of Slade in his mouth, familiar with his own blood.

“Alpha.” Slade corrects him.

“W-what?” Jason blinks. 

“Alpha. It means the leader of the pack. That’s what you call me, Jason.” 

_Alpha._ The word rings a bell somewhere in his mind. Maybe in something he’d read or watched long ago. Jason only nods, shakily at first, but when Slade’s gaze hardens he quickly stammers out a verbal response. “Y-yes, Alpha.”

“Good, pup.” Slade’s fingers graze over his throat again, as if to drive the point home. Jason can’t help but whine at the pressure of them, tilting his head further back to show his submission. A harder push and he can feel Slade’s fingernails — his _claws_ , start to sting the skin of his neck before withdrawing. “Now, roll over for me.”

It’s more uncomfortable to do this than anything else. Not because he doesn’t have the room, even with his jeans and underwear tangled around his ankles, his shirt bunched beneath his arms, and Slade kneeling over him, but rather because of the vulnerability the position will bring. All parts of Jason, instinct and cerebral alike, recognise it. How indefensible it is; how much it requires him to _trust_ that the larger predator at his back won’t use the opportunity to do him harm.

Or rather, resign himself to the fact he won’t be able to do much to stop him if he did.

Once on his stomach, Jason buries his face in his folded arms. He can feel Slade’s hand at the small of his back, pressing him down in a way that forces his erection to rub against the couch cushions. An unexpected sensation that causes Jason to whine again and try to grind down against the fabric. A moment later, Slade’s lips and teeth follow, starting at the top of his neck below his hair before working their way south. 

Jason shivers at the contrast between tongue and teeth, at the rough rasp of beard across his spine. “Steady.” Slade speaks against his skin, as Jason gasps and jerks when Slade stops to sink his teeth into his shoulder, pulling the collar of his shirt aside so that he can do so. “I’ll make you feel good, pup, don’t worry. I’ll make us _both_ feel good.”

“Sl—Alpha…” he pants a little, trying to grind himself down again, whining as Slade’s hands and mouth leave him and his weight settles more firmly on Jason’s legs. “Please…”

A whisper of fabric precedes the sight of Slade’s shirt falling to the ground. Jason tries to turn his head over his shoulder to get a better look, and finds himself swallowing hard at the sight of all that pale muscle laid bare, crisscrossed with scars that look like they’ve come from a variety of different sources.

He wonders which one, if any out of those on show, is Slade’s bite mark.

Slade smiles when he notices him looking, sharp enough that it’s almost a smirk. Jason shivers as one of Slade’s hands cups his jaw, and the older wolf leans down to kiss him again. Almost — if not for Jason’s newly sharpened hearing — distracting him from the sound of a zipper sliding down.

He moans at the heightened scent of musk in the air, releasing the sound entirely into Slade’s mouth. Another pleased rumble from the older wolf eases the reflexive tension in him before it can really start, followed by further assurance in the form of words. “Easy,” Slade says, “I wasn’t prepared for your arrival today, so we’re not going to go quite that far. We’ll do it like this instead.” Jason starts as he feels the heavy weight of Slade’s cock rub against his ass, “I won’t hurt you.”

And Jason… Jason is relieved about that, because Slade feels _big_ , even if he can’t get a clear look at him. Bigger than any client he’s had before. Being taken by him without adequate supplies would almost certainly hurt (but strangely, there’s a part of Jason that wants that too. That roughness, that _claiming_ , for Slade to take him and own him and—).

Slade shifts his weight, settling himself more comfortably into position over his back. He braces one hand beside Jason’s head, while the other runs up and down his ribs before settling against his hip and the still healing bite there. It’s sore, but not in any way powerful enough to pull Jason’s attention away from what’s happening now.

He groans as Slade pulls him up onto his knees with his arms and shoulders still pressed flat against the couch. As he nudges his thighs apart so that he can slip his cock between them; the power behind that first thrust pushing Jason even deeper into the cushions. It feels good, better than it has any right to be, to be covered and surrounded by the giant of a man behind him. Slade’s cock is long and thick enough that each thrust causes it to rub up against Jason’s own, and he moans deeply where his face is pressed against his forearms.

“That’s it,” Slade grunts at his reaction, “That’s a good boy.”

Though he starts off slow and steady, Slade thrusts soon rapidly increase in pace. Finesse is there, but little in the way of gentleness. Luckily, that’s hardly an issue for Jason, who quickly loses all interest in any ideas of tender lovemaking in favour of gaining more and more of that delicious friction.

He moans, whimpers, and _keens._ Even yips when a particularly strong burst of sensation curdles in his stomach, driving him ever closer to the release his body craves. His world has narrowed down, condensed into something microscopic where only the two of them exist. Where the only thing that matters is completion, and the distinct approval of the man behind him. Slade’s nails rake red lines down Jason’s ribs; further submission prompted by the edge of pain, then compounded by that hand suddenly jumping up to grip his hair and pull his head back.

Jason neck is forced into a sharp arch, followed by the entire length of his back as Slade pulls him up from the couch and in range of his teeth. He howls at the sudden cut of incisors into his throat. 

It’s more than enough to undo him.

Jason comes harder than he’s ever come before in his life. Harder than he ever did when he gave into temptation and jerked himself off back in his squat, or the rare times he ever came by another’s hand. He comes so hard that his vision actually whites out for a moment, and the only thing holding him up is Slade. 

That doesn’t last long. Soon enough, Slade lets Jason slump back down onto the couch, his entire body giving in to gravity. He can’t feel Slade’s cock between his thighs anymore, and briefly Jason wonders what’s going on with that before he’s suddenly, _roughly_ , rolled over, back landing in the small puddle of his own come on the couch cushion beneath him.

Blearily, he watches Slade loom over him, the hard set to his alpha’s face. The way his jaw is clenched, and the bunching of the muscles in his arm as he jerks himself off to the finish. Jason feels it the moment Slade comes, shooting his load across his stomach and chest.

The smell is heavy and thick. Jason has always known sex had a scent, but now he identifies it in a detail he’s never known before. Can tell the difference between his and Slade’s come, amid the pungent aroma of their drying sweat and Jason’s blood.

“You’re mine, pup.” Slade tells him sternly, as his seed begins to cool and dry over Jason’s abdomen and exhaustion floods his body in a sudden wave. “ _Mine._ ”

Jason shivers as Slade’s fingers spread that come over his hip, using it to cover up the marks the other wolf had left there.

There is no arguing that.

*

Hours later, he wakes up in a bed, curled next to Slade himself. Jason’s head rests on the older wolf’s thigh, while Slade’s fingers run through his hair.

Dreamily, he remembers Slade carrying him in here. Remembers being stripped completely of his clothing, then laid down on the mattress to sleep. At the time, Slade had positioned himself over Jason’s back, pinning him in place completely in a way that should have felt suffocating, but instead had been comforting, and Jason had fallen asleep in seconds, rather than minutes or hours like he usually did.

Trying to move as little as possible, not wanting to disturb the gentle touch in his hair, Jason slowly turns his head to look up at Slade, now leant back against the headboard with a book in hand. More memories of what happened last night slowly come back to him. “Sla—” he starts to say, then at the last moment, corrects himself, “...Alpha?”

The fingers stop their motion, but don’t leave his hair. It’s good enough that they’re still touching him. “Stay still. I removed the stitches on your back while you slept. You might be a little sore.”

Jason doesn’t feel sore. He feels gross; sticky from the remnants of the sweat and semen still on his stomach and back. But at the same time, bizarrely comfortable settled where he is, with his cheek pressed against Slade’s bare skin.

“I’m okay.” He replies, the response too ingrained in him to do otherwise.

Slade hums noncommittally before turning another page of his book. Jason can’t read the blurb or title from here, but he does wonder what kind of literature a man like Slade would choose to read. “Better to be sure. Stay where you are a little longer, Jason.”

It’s not an unreasonable request to Jason’s sleep and scent-addled mind. Not an unreasonable request at all. He closes his eyes, drifting and dozing for perhaps another hour. Occasionally, a concerned thought tries to make itself known, but the resumed pace of Slade’s fingers through Jason’s hair works to chase them all away before they can gain any ground. He counts seconds by the sound of pages turning, and the steady beat of Slade’s heart, easily audible to him now with his newly sensitive hearing.

But eventually, one question does manage to raise its head high enough above all the others for him to voice it.

“Alpha?”

“Yes, pup?”

Jason swallows, “You said you might be able to tell who attacked me from the bitemark. Could you, when you looked?”

He hears the cover of Slade’s book thud shut, before it’s set aside. Then his hand gently catches Jason’s chin, encouraging him to roll over so they can more easily look each other in the face. 

Slade’s eye is toned blue again, Jason notices, not amber. He’d missed that detail before.

“No. The scent’s gone, thank to whoever it was at that clinic that took care of the bite for you.” Slade tells him, to Jason’s great disappointment. When he sees this, Slade clucks his tongue and smiles reassuringly, “Don’t worry, Jason, we’ll still find the one who did this to you.”

“But how? If… if there’s no scent then—”

“Because I’m a wolf, pup. And so are you.” Slade’s smile widens, its predatory edge only heightened by the sharpened points of his teeth. “Wolves know how to hunt.”

The word _hunt_ stirs something in Jason, something primal. For a moment he thinks of the cat he smelled out on the street yesterday. Wet fur, the urge to chase; blood and flesh tearing beneath his teeth. His heart beats quicker in his chest, and his fingers dig deep into the mattress as he considers it. “You’ll teach me that?”

“I already said I would, didn’t I?” Slade raises an eyebrow, and Jason finds himself blushing at the pointed reminder.

“Yeah, you did.”

“Then I will. That and everything else I know. I always keep my word, pup. You’ll learn that soon enough.”

Jason nods slowly. “Soon?”

The amusement reappears on Slade’s face. He strokes his fingers over Jason’s cheek, before letting his thumb drop down to catch his bottom lip. Jason shivers at the touch. “When you’ve changed for the first time, when you’ve experienced what it’s truly like to be the wolf and how to control it, _then_ I’ll begin your lessons on hunting. First, you need time to get used to your new senses. It’ll be no good trying to track anything if you keep getting overwhelmed every time you step outside the door.”

Uneasily, Jason thinks back to everything he ever learned from stories about werewolves at the reminder. “Will it hurt when it happens? The change?”

“Yes.” Slade tells him honestly. “But you can endure a little pain, can’t you, pup?” His hand moves further down, to Jason’s neck, sliding to his shoulder. “I know you’re strong enough. If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be here.” 

Jason gasps softly as Slade’s fingers press against the bite mark he himself left there. Unlike the wounds on the back of his hip, that _does_ still feel sore, yet at the same time, Jason also feels his body start to stir with renewed interest at the touch.

“Y-yeah. Of course.”

He’s felt enough already in his short lifetime. What’s a little bit more? Especially considering that in this case he doesn’t seem to have much choice in the matter. If Slade is right, this pain is going to come no matter what Jason does, all because some bastard wolf decided to attack him and then not finish the job.

“Good boy.” Slade looks at him with a pleased, almost proud edge to the curve of his lips. He guides Jason up, forcing him to move to his hands and knees before straddling Slade’s lap. “It will be worth it if you do. It will _all_ be worth it. You believe me on that, don’t you?”

Jason swallows thickly as he looks Slade briefly in the eye, then down at his scarred chest.

There’s a part of him, the coldly rational, logical part, that instantly disagrees with Slade’s question. The part that kept Jason alive all the years on the street by not trusting anyone. Ever since his mother died, he’s been alone. No family, no friends. Only Leslie as his small brief point of positive human contact in the world as he dodged social workers, the cops, and endured unspeakable things in the name of survival.

And that’s all it had been; survival, but little else. Maybe that’s why Jason finds it so curiously easy to ignore the voice suddenly, burying it underneath the new parts of himself that have so recently come into being. The parts that point out how natural this all feels, how _easy_ , to accept all that’s happened to him already and may happen yet.

_You’re mine, pup._

The words Slade has spoken when they had sex come back to Jason in a flash, causing his heart to beat suddenly faster in his chest. Such a claim should make him feel scared, but instead it makes him feel safe. That sense of belonging, of _pack_ , filling his mind once again. Jason can feel Slade’s attention on him, waiting for his answer. Expecting it, the pressure growing with each passing second.

“Yeah.” he whispers finally, “Yeah, I believe you.”

If that turns out to be wrong, he can always leave later, can’t he? Slade had never said he couldn’t. And in the meantime he gets guidance, protection, and maybe even the chance of three square meals a day. Add in the bonus of being able to exact vengeance on the one who did this to him, and Jason might very well be willing to shake hands with the devil himself, let alone Slade.

“Excellent.” Slade tells him, squeezing Jason’s neck over the bite in a way that makes him want to melt beneath it. “Now, I know you’re hungry again, so let’s see about getting you fed. After that… well, I’m sure we can find some way to fill the time.”

**Author's Note:**

> [Find me on tumblr!](firefrightfic.tumblr.com)


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